


hope you guessed my name

by juliusschmidt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Camping, Loneliness, M/M, Shmoop, Sort Of, Temperature Play, and aloe vera as lube, and shmut, cryptid fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-23 20:30:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11997408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/pseuds/juliusschmidt
Summary: Harry blows out a breath, testing.Orange.The flames dance in mid-air before flickering out. Tonight they are orange like the globe of the sun before it slips beneath the horizon.Harry is a hungry devil and Louis is his unsuspecting prey.





	hope you guessed my name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CalamityK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityK/gifts).



_“He was tiny, like supermodel skinny. That’s all I know. Oh, and naked. I think he was trying to snatch my baby. You know what they say, the devil eats innocents for dinner.”_ – Jessica Keats, occasional camper, age 29, 2010

Harry blows out a breath, testing.

Orange.

The flames dance in mid-air before flickering out. Tonight they are orange like the globe of the sun before it slips beneath the horizon.

Drops of rain slide down his body, cool and ticklish. No sunset this evening.

This is good for Harry. He’s been waiting for just such a midsummer eve. The sound of thunder will cover the noise he makes opening up cars and rummaging through them and the hard rain will wash away his footprints.

The first campsite Harry encounters is empty. A fresh pile of wood still tied neatly with twine sits by the fire pit. Its owners must’ve been in a rush to escape the weather. Harry tucks the bundle underneath the nearby picnic table. Hopefully, it won’t get too wet to be unusable. The next group of campers will surely want it. Or the next.

Harry considers blowing it dry-a few careful breaths would do it- but the rain’s only just begun so it’s unlikely to make much of a difference, in the end.

Harry waits for another long crack and rumble of thunder to dart to the next campsite. Its occupants are packed into a small tent on the far side of the lot, opposite Harry and their car.

Jackpot.

Harry pulls the handle of the little SUV and it clicks open easily. Unlocked. Double jackpot.

Harry sniffs, catches a whiff of meat, and sniffs again. His stomach turns over grumpily. He hopes they have hot dogs. Hot dogs are his favorite.

That’s when he spots the cooler. It’s all the way in the back.

In the tent, a baby begins to cry. A muffled curse. The flicker of a flashlight. Harry freezes and then relaxes again. Maybe the baby’s fussing will be an effective distraction, a noisy cover for Harry’s raid.

A deep male voice mutters, “His pacifier’s in the car. Damnit.”

“ _Fuck._ Alan. I told you to grab it when you put the food away.”

Harry’s face twists into a frown.

“I forgot. It was starting to rain and Elliot was- Alright. Damn. I’m getting it now.” A creak. A shuffle. The jingle and hiss of the tent’s zipper.

Harry shuts the door to the car as quietly as he can and makes a dash for the campsite across the way.

He crouches beside the picnic table, not wanting Alan-with-the-baby to catch a glimpse of his luminescence. The rain might put out campfires, but it doesn’t do much to dim the glow of his skin.

He glances to his right and then to his left. No car. No fire. Maybe it’s been abandoned, like the first.

A branch above his head groans and he snaps his gaze up to see two backpacks dangling from the tree. He smiles. Clever trick to keep the bears away, but Harry’s no bear.

Harry begins to pull loose the knot wrapped round the trunk of the tree.

Behind him he hears a rustling, and freezes.

“Holy shit! Holyshitholyshit!”

Harry whirls round and the rope slips from his grasp. A moment later the pack drops to the ground with a thud.

A man stands beside two small pup tents Harry hadn’t noticed earlier. He begins to walk toward Harry, still cursing softly.

The rain thickens.

This can’t be happening. Harry’s gotten good at hiding. No one’s caught even a glimpse of him in six months and the last time anyone had seen him head on was in 2013.

“What the _fuck_?” The man shouts. He’s close now, less than five yards away. “Are you on _fire_ , man?”

Harry’s skin casts the man in a dim, eerie light and Harry can see that his hair is already wet, plastered to his head, and his eyes are blue. Like water. Like the ocean.

Harry unfreezes, grabs the pack on the ground behind him, and runs.

The man follows him for a while, jogging and muttering under his breath. He wants his pack back, but hell if Harry’s going to give it to him now. Harry’s not taking this much risk for nothing. He at least hopes to get a sandwich or a can of beans out of the whole mess.

After a while, the man tires, disappearing into the night with a frustrated shout.

“I will find you,” he says, but Harry knows he won’t. No one ever has.

When Harry arrives at his cave, he upends the blue backpack, its contents spilling onto the ground. It’s mostly dirty clothes, which are useless to him; he never wears clothes, hasn’t since he was turned. But he also finds a nice water bottle, a baggie of beef jerky, and a small packet of nuts and seeds.

As he sets the pack upright, he notices it’s got a top compartment, which flops around still heavy with goodies. In it he finds the real treasures: a knife, a block of cheese, three bags of Harry’s favorite tea, and a chocolate bar.

Deeper still, zipped into a pocket in this top compartment and then tucked into another waterproof bag, are a wallet and a phone.

Harry fiddles with the phone but the screen stays black. He’s only managed to lift two of these in the past. Humans usually keep them very close. But he knows that they light up and provide all kinds of information, connection, and, mostly excitingly, entertainment. Very different from the phones of Harry’s human days.

Unfortunately, both of the ones he’d previously stolen had broken within a day or two of Harry finding them. This one already appears to be broken.

Next, he begins to flip through the wallet. A few dollars. Lots of plastic cards, one of which gives him pause. The man’s ID.

His name is Louis Tomlinson and Harry hadn’t been deceived. The man’s eyes were a cool, deep blue, like the nearby lake on a summer day.

Carefully, Harry takes the ID card over to the shelf in the rock where he keeps his most precious things- a newspaper clipping showing a photograph of his grieving mother and sister, a sapphire ring he’d found in the lake, and three stolen bottles of aloe vera.

He returns to the pile of goodies. First thing’s first.

He peels back the paper and bites into the chocolate bar with a groan.

 

 

 _“If you keep knocking at the devil’s door, sooner or later, he’ll let you in.”_ -Source Unknown

A rustling of branches and soft footfalls on the leafy forest floor pull Harry out of his nap.

He’s never been a heavy sleeper and he’s glad for it these days, with so many hikers on the trail. With slow, careful movements, Harry slips deeper into his cave and does what he can to calm his heart rate and dim the luminosity of his skin.

The noise grows louder, its source drawing closer, and his heart pounds despite his best efforts to remain calm. Of course, he could easily frighten nearly anyone away, but he’s not really in the mood to handle another sighting. Two in the course of two days might catch the attention of the press, or worse, interested bloggers.

He really doesn’t want the Hunters back out looking for him.

“I am not going in there.” A man’s voice. “I know I promised I’d follow you anywhere on this trip, but I will not follow you in there.”

“Come on, Liam. You _did_ promise. Remember? Because it’s been such a rough few months for me... Anyway, I thought you didn’t believe me when I said I’d seen a monster.”

Harry recognizes the second voice immediately. It’s the camper from last night, the one whose backpack he’d stolen.

_Louis Tomlinson._

The pack itself is out of Harry’s line of vision, closer to the front of the cave. Maybe if Harry remains very still and very quiet, the man will retrieve his backpack and leave Harry the hell alone.

“I didn’t! I don’t! If you saw anything, it was a bear and I’m not really interested in wandering into a bear’s den.”

A bear. Harry’s never been so insulted. As if a bear would be clever enough to pull down that backpack.

He huffs and a little angry breath sparks out of his mouth. Sound and light echo throughout the cave.

 _Hellfire and damnation_.

There’s a rustling and a shout at the entrance.

“Did you see that? Did you fucking see that? He’s in here and he’s not a bear. Bears can’t make fire, Liam.”

At least one of the two men has a little sense.

“I’ll-ah- I’ll wait for you on the trail. You’re on your own with this one.”

“Chicken!” Louis yells. The sound of it bounces around the cave, taunting Harry as much as Liam.

“Now, you,” the man continues. His voice is louder now, directed into the cave. “I want my backpack. It was brand new and we’ve got about fifty more miles to hike back to Liam’s car. So I’m gonna need it.”

Harry keeps still. Any moment the man will come across the backpack, pick it up, and walk away. Hopefully.

The echoes of his steps grow closer and then he’s laughing. Harry hasn’t heard laughter in years, not so close, anyway. It’s a sweet, happy sound and the rich ring of it causes his chest to ache.

Harry needs the man to leave.

“You ate my Mars Bar,” the man continues. “I told Liam that you were probably an alien.”

An alien? That’s almost as insulting as a bear. Before Harry realizes it he’s let out another spark of a breath.

Harry hears a thud- the backpack dropping to the ground again, maybe- and then the man- _Louis Tomlinson-_ is standing in front of him.

Harry drinks in his wide eyes and pink, parted lips, the stubble on his jaw and the messy nest of hair atop his head. He doesn’t much resemble his ID photograph. He’s prettier.

And angrier.

He points an accusing finger at Harry. “You stole my backpack, took it right down from the tree, you bastard.”

Harry can’t help the question that falls from his lips. “Aren’t you scared of me?”

His voice is low and raspy and the sound of it wrapping around the words startles him. He doesn’t get much use out of it these days.

The man’s eyebrows shoot up. “Scared of you?” he repeats. “Fuck, no. I’m too angry to be scared. That backpack wasn’t even a month old. This is the first trip I’d taken it on and you just walked off with it, stole right out from under my nose. If you think I’m just going to let you get away with that, you’ve got another thing coming, Buster.”

Harry’s not sure what to make of this. Harry’s not had anyone this close to him in years. Louis’ pointer finger is less than an inch away from touching his chest. Harry wonders what would happen if either of them closed the distance.

He does his best to smother his curiosity because he can never find out. He can’t touch a human, of course he can’t. It’s practically the first thing he’d learned from the devil who’d turned him.

He’s not supposed to interact with humans at all except to frighten them off and even that’s only allowed in the most dire of circumstances.

A man with eyes deep and blue enough to swim in nearly _touching_ him- that’s a dire circumstance, indeed.

He draws a deep breath, preparing his mightiest, flashiest roar of fire. Louis’ eyes narrow and Harry realizes there’s not even a foot of space between their faces. Harry’s never spit flames at someone standing in such close proximity.

And he won’t do it now. He can’t.

“You should leave,” he says.

Louis’ face scrunches up. “Leave? Buddy, did you not hear me? I’m not letting you get away with this _crime_. I should call the police is what I should do. Have them lock you up. Maybe they could put you in the zoo or sell you to the circus.”

Harry flinches and backs away, leaving a shimmer of flames in his wake. The man follows him.

He’d thought the guy was a hiker, an unlucky victim of Harry’s reluctant thievery. But maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe the man was a Hunter.

“Are you listening to me? You think a little fire’s gonna scare me? Well, you’re fucking wrong about that.”

Harry’s mind scrambles. The man’s closer now, in Harry’s space. Their breaths, harsh and uneven, mingle. “Your companion will be worried about you. You should find him. I’m sorry for taking your pack. You can have it back without a fight as long as you leave right now and don’t tell anyone about me. Okay?”

“Now, buddy,” Louis starts and this time his finger pushes into the center of Harry’s chest. He doesn’t have time to ponder whether or not the touch was an accident because the press of Louis’ cool skin sends a jolt down his spine and, embarrassingly, straight to his groin.

It’s the best thing he’s felt in years. He closes his eyes and tries to draw a breath, but the ghost of Louis touch continues to steal all the air from his chest.

When he opens his eyes again he sees Louis holding his hand by the wrist and staring in awe at the tip of his finger.

“Did I burn you?” Harry asks, unable to keep the worry from his voice. He really _hates_ the thought of hurting a human, even one as problematic as Louis Tomlinson.

Louis shakes his head, blue eyes trained on his finger. Eventually he adds, “You’re hot.”

Harry looks down at his naked body. His skin glows brightly, the color of a ripe peach, but otherwise he looks human.

“I suppose I am,” he comments, a smile playing at his lips. He’d always been hot, even before he’d been turned. Everyone said so, including his mom. Her little furnace, he’d been.

The silence lengthens. The man- _Louis_ – really needs to leave.

“Can I touch you again?” Louis asks.

Harry nods even though he shouldn’t.

This time Louis places his whole palm flat on Harry’s chest. It’s refreshing, like ice trickling down his back on a hot day and the tips of Harry's fingers and toes tingle with the pleasure of it.

“You’re glowing brighter,” Louis says. His hand still rests against Harry’s skin. “You feel…” Louis pulls his hand away and doesn’t finish the sentence.

“Do you live here?” Louis asks.

Harry blinks and nods, willing himself not to shudder at the absences of Louis’ touch. “Mostly.”

That’s not something he should share, not if he wants to stay here. Louis isn’t a Hunter, not yet, anyway. If he was, he’d have caught Harry and carried him away minutes ago. But he might be compelled to share the information and if the wrong person got hold of it, Harry could find himself in deep trouble.

“You were right about my friend. He’s going to get worried. He might call the police or park rangers or something if I don’t return soon.” Louis laughs. “He thinks you’re a bear.” Louis’ eyes roam up and down Harry’s body. “A _bear_.”

Harry huffs and, again, a little fire escapes. Louis flinches, but he doesn’t step back. No, he leans closer and inspects Harry’s mouth.

“How did you do that?” Then, he shakes his head. “Never mind. You can tell me next time. I’ve got to get back to Liam.”

“Next time?” Harry asks. But Louis doesn’t respond, he’s grabbing up this and that from the piles Harry’s made of his stuff.

And then, with a wave of his hand and a, ‘later,’ he’s gone.

Harry fights the urge to chase after him. Instead, he takes stock of the items that Louis’ left. He’s taken his backpack and wallet and phone, but the rest of it remains, including the food.

Harry frowns and his hand returns to the center of his chest where Louis’d touched him.

 _Next time,_ he thinks.

 

 

 _To the sneakiest among us. May your fire never go dim._ -Inscription on the Annual Award of Silence, given by the Devil’s Collective to those devils who remained completely hidden the previous year.

But Louis doesn’t return. Harry lays in wait for him all night, crouched at the edge of his cave. He plans to scare him thoroughly this time, make the man scream and wet himself, so that he won’t be tempted to come back.

Louis doesn’t show up the next day either, or the next.

Harry spends an inordinate amount of time staring at Louis’ ID. His finger strokes the fringe that falls across the man’s forehead. His nail taps at the word ‘blue’ and Harry decides that it doesn’t adequately capture the color of the man’s eyes. He traces the man’s signature with his eyes, his right pointer finger, and then his left. He studies the address, considers how long it would take him to find the place on foot. The trek would be a fool’s errand, of course, as Harry’s never heard of the city before, let alone the street, and Harry can’t very well stop along the way and ask for directions.

Devils are a well-kept secret, having hidden themselves much more effectively than werewolves or aliens, the only anomaly being the small, angry little boy that had been turned in New Jersey all those years back. It’s something they pride themselves on, giving out annual awards ( _food, so so so much food_ ) for those among them that do the best job remaining unseen. Harry makes his way to their gathering every year, hopes high, but he’s never won.

This was supposed to be his year. He hadn’t been spotted since before the last gathering… until Louis. And if Louis just stays quiet, Harry might win yet.

Harry needs to see him again, tell him how imperative it is that he doesn’t even drop a hint of a word about Harry to anyone who might post about it online or – god forbid- mention it to a journalist or cryptid blogger.

Another day passes, the third since his encounter with Louis, and he still hasn’t returned. Harry’s finished all the food he’d scavenged from the backpack and he’s hungry again. He could hunt, but he hates eating squirrel meat, especially during camping season when a package of hotdogs is only one successful scrounge away.

There’s no rainstorm on the horizon, but the trail mostly clears out in the middle of the week, which lowers the risk of being seen just enough to make an excursion possible.

As he gathers up his wits, Harry takes another long look at the address on Louis’ ID card and hatches a plan.

 

 

 _“That fucker almost killed me, I swear to God in heaven. He is the Devil- fucking horns and all- and he’s here to bring on the reign of Satan_. _That’s why we have to catch him and kill him._ ”-Aiden Fienes, stoner, age 21, 2011

He’s never scrounged at this campsite before. It’s off the beaten path, attracting only the most serious survivalists, people who don’t mind shitting in holes they’ve dug themselves and packing in their own water.

These people never bring hotdogs.

But by his calculations, it’s the likeliest landing spot for Louis and his companion, should they have continued hiking and camping in the direction of Louis’ home.

He smells the fire before he sees it and smiles. Someone’s here at least, so Harry probably won’t go hungry.

Harry stops and listens for a moment. At first, all he can here is the crackling of wood beneath flame, but, after a moment, he’s able to pick out the slow cadence of hushed voices.

“You two been out here for a few days, then?” An older man, Harry thinks. Not Louis.

“Yeah, nearly a week now.” That’s Louis. Harry’s heart pounds and the spot Louis touched echoes with the feel of his cool hand.

“Met anyone exciting?” A woman, voice lilting with laughter.

“Sadly, no, I have not gotten laid yet,” Louis replies.

Sex. The mention of it startles Harry into a memory he rarely allows himself to touch, slick skin and uneven breathing, the burst of fireworks at the end. He hadn’t had a lot of it before he’d been turned, but enough that he misses it now. He doesn’t miss the heat, nor even the rush of an orgasm- he has plenty of both- but he longs for the press of another body against his own.

He’s never asked if it’s possible for a devil to have sex and no one’s ever told him. He’s never seen any devils coupled up, but he can’t imagine all of them live their 500-600 year lifespan alone.

“Not a lot of hot, single chicks out hiking?” The old man again.

“Nope. No dudes for him, either.” This is Louis’ friend. “But we didn’t come for that. We came to bro it out, didn’t we?”

It’s quiet for a moment.

Louis mutters something that Harry doesn’t catch.

Liam replies, “Well, I thought ‘bro it out’ sounded better than ‘grief vacation,’ which is what my mom keeps calling it.”

An awkward hush settles over the bunch of them.

Then the older man clears his throat and asks, “So you haven’t met any _one_ interesting, but what about any _thing_? Met the devil they say lives around these parts?”

Harry freezes. He’s too late. He traveled all this way to prevent this exact scenario and he’s too late.

“Louis saw a bear. Chased it back to its cave, even,” Louis’ friend says.

“A bear?” The woman asks, voice hitching a couple of octaves. She’s not buying it. “No bears around here.”

“I’d swear on my father’s grave, it was a fucking bear.” Louis hisses the words and the night air between the campers turns to ice; Harry can feel it even from his spot twenty yards away.

Harry exhales in relief, the air in front of him flickering for a moment before he remembers himself.

He smiles. Probably a ‘no’ on the sex, then, as he’d most certainly set his partner aflame.

 

 

 _Hunting Tip #4- When heading out on your hunting expedition, be sure to wear flame retardant clothing, including shoes and headwear. Devils are not known for playing nice. They’ll burn you so badly even your own mother won’t be able to recognize you._ -HuntingDevils.net

Harry approaches Louis, while he’s… doing his _business_. It’s not very polite, Harry knows, and it _smells_ , but he’s not sure if he’ll be able to speak to Louis alone, otherwise.

“Louis,” he hisses, ducking his head out from behind a tree.

Louis clutches his chest and wobbles. He doesn’t fall over, though, thankfully.

“Jesus,” he says. And then, “It’s you again.”

“Yeah, you didn’t come back and there was something I still needed to tell you.”

Louis looks down at himself. “Right now? Can’t wait another two minutes?”

Harry shrugs and looks away. “I didn’t want to miss you.”

Louis blows out a breath, causing his fringe to flutter against his forehead. He does not light his hair on fire. He doesn’t even singe it. Harry’s a little jealous. “Give me two more minutes and I’ll meet you over there.”

Harry wrinkles his nose. “Okay.”

Not a minute later, Louis rests a hand on Harry’s shoulder to catch his attention and the cool touch surprises him. Harry’s whole body shudders, but Louis does not pull his hand away.

“You can’t be here,” Louis hisses. “Why are you here?” He sounds upset, angry even, his fingers tightening on Harry’s shoulder.

“I’m here to warn you,” Harry replies, trying to keep his own ire in check. He can be… incendiary. “You probably don’t realize this, but there are evil people out there, people who’ll do all kinds of things to capture, enslave, and torture creatures like me. Hunters.”

“No _shit_ , Sherlock,” Louis hisses back. His fingernails are digging into Harry’s skin. “These crazy fuckers sharing a campsite with us have fucking _devil traps_.”

Harry freezes. _Traps?_ That’s a new one. The craziest thing he ever encountered was an old man armed with a fire extinguisher.

“I mean,” Louis shows Harry a glimpse of a smile. “They’re ‘fireproof’ nets, nothing that’d hold you for long.”

He sounds more confident about Harry’s ability to escape such a fate than Harry himself feels, but, for the sake of his pride, Harry forces himself to relax and smile back at Louis, “Idiots.”

“Serious idiots, though,” Louis replies, eyes turning hard, glinting in the glow of Harry’s skin. “They really want to find you. They’re carrying all this heavy equipment ‘for devil detection.’ Like the stuff they use on those ghost television shows.”

Harry frowns. “That doesn’t work, does it?” He shakes his head. Technology has advanced quite a bit since he was turned, but it can’t have advance _that_ much.

Louis gapes at him. “Well if I were you, I wouldn’t really want to find out! I’d want to leave.” He pauses. “ _Right now._ ”

Harry shakes his head and stares into the wide blue eyes in front of him. Louis is right, of course. Curiosity aside, Harry doesn’t want to take the risk of discovering whether or not this technology has any real power. No, Harry should be hightailing it out of there as quickly as his legs will carry him.

Instead, he remains frozen, watching the lines of tension ripple and dance across Louis’ face. The luminescence from Harry’s skin is bright enough to light them both despite the dusk settling around them.

“What is it?” Louis asks. “Why are you still here? Is it food? Cause I can get you food, but not without running back to camp.”

Food would be nice, yes, but Harry knows less dangerous ways to acquire it.

Louis’ jaw tightens and he glances over his shoulder, clearly calculating the distance back to camp.

Harry opens his mouth to tell him, to assure him that the trip isn’t necessary, that he has plenty of other options, but he hesitates.

Crickets chirp in the low brush surrounding them.

The moment ends, and Harry begins to speak, but it doesn’t matter. It’s already cost him everything because as he’s saying, “No, that’s alright...”

Someone back at the camp shouts, “Louis.”

Harry swallows, trying to relax. It’s clearly Louis’ friend. He doesn’t think Liam is a threat. He’s not a Hunter, at least, not like the others.

But then another voice calls out Louis’ name, this one closer, and less familiar. A flashlight beam strikes them.

Harry pulls Louis to the ground. It’s not a bad idea, the brush will hide his glow better than the few measly tree trunks between them, but his execution is poor and they hit the dirt with a soft thud.

“Louis?” The voice with the flashlight shouts again. It’s drawing closer and Harry closes his eyes tightly, listening as best as he can to the direction footfalls in the distance.

Louis is breathing softly atop him.

Harry swallows and replays that thought.

Louis is on top of him, chest to chest and skin to skin. His breath hits Harry’s neck, sweet and cool. The realization of their closeness sinks in and spreads through Harry, heating him anew.

They’re pressed _so closely_ together, and Harry doesn’t dare breathe himself. He’s afraid even the softest breath would set Louis on fire.

“Louis!” It’s Liam this time and he can’t be farther than a couple of yards away. Harry doesn’t know how good their cover is, but he knows it’s not perfect. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the outline of a figure moving toward them.

“Has it got you? Louis?” The other voice again and Harry thinks he hears hope, perhaps even glee lacing its tone. But, blessedly, it’s floating toward them from farther and farther away.

“What do I do?” Louis hisses the words against Harry’s ear and Harry sizzles beneath him.

“Just,” Harry breathes the words against the top of Louis’ head. His hair rustles with the movement of Harry’s lips, but it does not burn. _Thank god._ “Just head back to camp. Say you wandered a little far. Got lost. I’ll wait till things are quiet and then head back to my cave… And, um, maybe you can divert the Hunters in a different direction?”

The words tumble out of him in hesitating bursts. He’s afraid of being heard. He’s afraid of hurting Louis. He’s afraid the brush of skin against skin will become too hot for either of them to bear.

“Louis?” It’s Liam and he’s still close.

Louis doesn’t move. Neither of them breathes.

“I’m scared for you. You’d better not be fucking with me! This isn’t fucking funny.” Liam sounds close to tears and Harry’s chest clenches in sympathy.

Louis’ body feels suddenly heavier as he relaxes. Harry cannot relax. No, Harry’s heartbeat picks back up as he becomes aware of Louis’ thigh, pressed tight to his groin. Blood rushes like electricity through his veins straight to his cock, lighting it up.

The memory of sex hits him again, a hand that isn’t his tugging at his cock, two bodies rocking against each other in a push-pull rhythm.

Louis shifts his leg-hot friction- and Harry’s fully hard.

Voice light, Louis whispers, “Liam’s a fucking _genius_.”

Harry closes his eyes. He’s got no idea what Louis’ talking about. He can’t think of anything aside from how he wants Louis to move his leg just so, again and again and again.

Cold lips press Harry’s ear and then his forehead and then his lips. He gasps, moving forward to chase the sensation, but Louis’ already standing up. Harry opens his eyes and he can see Louis’ shadowy figure slowly, _lightly_ , walking away.

And then a shriek. “Shitballs. Louis! Goddamnit!”

Louis’ cackle echoes through the woods. He can’t be further than ten yards away. Harry doesn’t know if that’s too close or too far.

 

 

“ _I thought he was normal, just your average camper, so I stopped to greet him. I thought he would say hi, but he didn’t. He opened his mouth and out came fire. Terrifying, to be avoided at all costs.”_ –Carl Decker, avid birder, age 56, 2013

Harry doesn’t remember much about life before he was turned. The first year or so, he’d remembered _too much_ and, after the loneliest birthday of his short life, he’d pledged to undergo a purposeful process of forgetting, letting go of all his memories, even the best of them.

So he doesn’t remember if he’s ever missed someone- aside from his family- as much as he misses Louis. They’ve only had three short encounters, but they were three short encounters that changed Harry.

Louis’ cool hand on Harry’s chest, his cool lips against Harry’s forehead, they made Harry feel a little less alone. Someone else knew him. Someone else saw him. Someone else _touched_ him.

But now that Louis’ gone, his camping expedition long over, now that Harry has no hope of seeing Louis again, he feels more lonely than ever before.

He’s lit himself a small fire at the edge of the cave upon which he’s roasting a squirrel. As it cooks, he turns Louis’ ID over and over and over in his hands.

He fingers the address, wishing he knew some way to make sense of it, to go there.

 

 

 _The devil tempts us not--'tis we tempt him..._ -George Eliot, Felix Holt

The sun is high and the day is hot. Even the usually cool recesses of Harry’s cave feel thick with the afternoon heat. The end of summer can be unbearable for Harry. It’s the only time he allows himself his favorite (but riskiest) pleasure: swimming in the river.

The spot closest to Harry’s cave isn’t on the trail, not technically, but the trees, even at peak foliage, do not fully obscure it from view.

Harry runs for a long way in either direction making certain that the trail is clear before he bounds into the water.

He doesn’t linger on the shore, no, he dives right in, and comes up gasping for air. It’s cold, always colder than he remembers. He imagines that in his human form, it wouldn’t have been this way, not at the height of summer. Empirically the water’s at its warmest for the year.

But it’s _freezing_ to Harry, whose internal furnace doesn’t respond to Harry’s insistent pleas that that it take a break on days like this.

A breeze whips through the trees and he shivers, smiling to himself. Perfect.

He dunks under again, spends a few futile moments trying to make his way upstream. When he surfaces, he finds he’s actually floated a few yards down stream instead. He laughs and gazes upward.

At moments like this, he can be satisfied, happy even, with his existence.

He stays in the water floating downstream and then fighting his way back up it, over and over and over, until the sun is no longer high in the sky. It’s risky- his quick check of the trail hadn’t really bought him this much time- but he’s loathe to return to the heat.

When he finally does, it’s at the behest of his stomach, which is roiling with hunger. He doesn’t bother shaking himself dry; he’ll be hot again in minutes, anyway.

He hums to himself a little as he walks back toward the cave, relishing the cool relief of the last few water droplets drying on his skin.

He’s still a few yards out when he notices that something’s off. He can’t tell what it is right away. A strange smell in the air. An unnatural rustling coming from inside his home. A blue backpack sitting upright at the entrance.

Harry stops and stills. _Hell_. They’ve found him.

The Hunters have found him.

He thinks about his dwindling stash of aloe vera. His ring. The photo of his family. Louis Tomlinson’s ID card. He’s going to have to leave it all behind if he wants to stand a chance of escaping unnoticed.

Without moving his body, he gazes around, searching for traps, for people hiding in bushes, for cameras pointed at him. He finds nothing.

The movement in the cave grows louder. They’re in there and they’re coming out. They’re coming for him.

Harry turns around and _runs._

“Hey!” The word catches him round the middle like a lasso and pulls him to a stop. He knows that voice. “Hey!”

Harry turns. He can’t see the cave’s entrance, nor the person shouting, but he knows who it is. Breaking the basic ground rule of living as a devil, Harry begins to walk back toward Louis Tomlinson.

He could have brought the Hunters back with him. He could have discovered the type of money people were willing to pay for evidence and mementos of creatures like Harry. And if he hasn’t yet, he might still someday.

But Harry can’t help himself. The memories of Louis’ hands on him and of Louis’ body atop his own have haunted Harry’s best and worst dreams. Harry wants to see Louis Tomlinson one more time.

Louis reaches him, sweaty and panting from the chase. He clutches at his side and grins.

Three feet of trail separate them and the distance gapes at Harry, a tempting and dangerous chasm.

“I brought you something,” Louis says. He wiggles his eyebrows.

Harry swallows and then, carefully, allows himself to smile back. “You shouldn’t have come here again.”

Louis tilts his head. “If you didn’t want me to find you, you should’ve moved caves.”

Louis is not wrong and Harry’s been meaning to do just that; he really has.

However, every morning, as he glances over Louis’ photo and meets Louis’ serious blue gaze, he finds himself stuck in place, promising that’ll he scope out caves tomorrow or the next day or the next.

Harry nods and begins walking again, back toward the cave. He passes Louis who, still breathing hard from his run, trips over his feet to keep up. They walk in silence for a minute or two. Harry’d run quite a ways, he realizes. He always forgets how _fast_ he is, how much ground he can cover in this hot little body.

Eventually, Louis says, “I don’t know what to call you.”

Harry bites his lip. “Devil.”

Louis laughs. “No, come on. What are you called?”

“I’m _serious,_ ” Harry tells him. “That’s what we’re called. Devils. Maybe there’s a more scientific name, but, if so, no one’s ever told me.”

Louis shakes his head. He’s still laughing and Harry doesn’t know _why_ he’s still laughing, but he decides, even if he’s the butt of the joke, he likes the sound of it.

“I mean,” Louis says, laughter lilting his words, “what’s your name?”

“Oh!” Harry says. “I’m Harry.”

Louis’ eyes sparkle, ocean waves reflecting the sun. “Not Lucifer?

“Harry.”

“Not Satan?” Louis jostles his shoulder into Harry. Harry doesn’t trip; he almost does, but not quite.

Harry blows a small breath out and with it spills a yellow flame.

“Jesus,” Louis hisses. He leans closer to Harry. “Do it again.”

Harry stops walking, wanting his full focus on this act. He breathes out with a little more force this time. The flame is larger, whiter, hotter. Harry can feel its heat on his face and he imagines that Louis can, too.

“That’s incredible.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s not really convenient.”

“It’s sexy,” Louis says, eyes tight to Harry’s, reflecting back the fire that had just flickered between them.

Harry realizes they’ve almost reached the mouth of his cave. He swallows. “It’s not. I’m not. I’m dangerous. I _burn_.”

Louis rests his palm against the bare skin at the junction of Harry’s neck and shoulder. Harry shivers.

“You haven’t burned me yet,” Louis tells him. He holds his palm there for five seconds. Ten. Thirty. His fingers slide into Harry’s hair.

He wants to kiss Louis. Louis’ lips are parted and his fingers are twisting into Harry’s curls and Harry hasn’t been held, hasn’t been _wanted,_ hasn’t been _touched_ in so long.

Harry closes his eyes. He can’t look at Louis or else he’ll do something he shouldn’t. “Why did you come here?”

Louis’ grip tightens in Harry’s hair, as though he’s afraid Harry will run away from him again. “I wanted to see you.”

Harry’s chest clenches and he opens his eyes. “So it has nothing to do with those Hunters?” It’s a little late for that question. If Louis has ill intentions- wants to catch Harry on video, lure him in so the others can grab him, find out more about him for a later trip- Harry’s already spent too long in his presence.

He’s terrible at this ‘living as a secret monster’ business.

“Harry,” Louis murmurs. “I’m not here to hurt you or trap you or rat you out. I thought we already established that.”

Harry frowns. “I still don’t understand why you’re here.”

“I hike this trail when I’m lonely.”

Harry considers this. He knows what it’s like to be lonely.

Louis adds, “I brought you some food. And some aloe vera.”

“You what?” Harry asks. Louis eyelashes flutter against his flushed cheeks as he looks down. Is he _embarrassed_?

“I noticed you had a stockpile of food and another of aloe vera. It’s not much, what I brought, I mean. But I thought... maybe it’d save you a trip into unsafe territory.”

“Did you bring any more Mars Bars?” Harry asks and then laughs at his own eagerness. He’s always been a sucker for sweets.

Instead of answering, Louis walks toward his pack, which is still leaning up against the entrance to Harry’s cave. He unzips the top pocket and pulls out a Milky Way. “How’s this?”

Harry’s at his side, grabbing it from his hands before he can stop himself.

The first bite is heaven, and Harry relishes it, the pull of caramel between his teeth and tongue, the crumble of the cookie, the melty chocolate sticking to the top of his mouth.

Louis laughs. “Come on. It can’t be _that_ good.”

Harry offers him the bar. “Taste it- really let it settle on your tongue before you swallow it- and tell me it’s not _that_ good.”

Louis takes it from him, but he doesn’t eat it, not immediately. Instead he steps inside and sits, settling his back against the wall of the cave. Harry watches, a little tortured- he wants another bite _so_ badly- as Louis takes a deep breath, closes his eyes and _finally_ lifts the bar to his mouth.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Louis moans. “Yeah. Oh fuck yeah.”

Harry swallows. He’s not thinking about candy anymore.

Louis’ eyes blink open and he lifts the candy bar toward Harry. “You’re right. Have another bite.”

They pass the chocolate bar back and forth between them, until it’s down to a small stub.

Louis holds the end between sticky fingers. A smudge of chocolate decorates the corner of his mouth. He offers the last little bit of the bar to Harry. “Do you want it?”

Harry nods and opens his mouth. The moment the chocolate hits his tongue, Harry groans, closing his mouth.

Beside him, Louis shudders. He slips his fingers free of Harry’s lips with a soft pop, but not before Harry’s tongue has danced around them with a playful flick.

Harry touches the tip of one of his fingers to Louis’ cheek, right beside the speck of chocolate. “You’ve got a little…. Can I...?”

Louis nods at Harry’s half question and Harry relinquishes the reins he’s been using to hold himself back.

He kisses Louis, just a soft press of lips to the corner of his mouth, before he slips his tongue out to catch the spot of sweetness. It’s good, but it’s not enough, not for either of them.

The last few years of Harry’s life, the ones lived in caves and breathing fire, they haven’t been devoid of sexual pleasure. The long days alone have given Harry little else to do but explore his body, testing out the feel of different substances on his skin, opening himself up with two, three, four hot fingers. He’s done a good job of keeping himself happy and sated.

Or so he’d convinced himself.

It’s not the same.

Louis’ touch is cool, the press of his skin more soothing than any amount of aloe vera, and his grip, the urgency with which he kisses and moves, it carries a heat that Harry could not create on his own.

Breaking the kiss, Louis climbs onto Harry’s lap. Harry stretches out his legs, allowing Louis’ knees to cradle his hips. Their thighs and groins align, but Louis places his hands on tops of Harry’s shoulders and holds their chests a small distance apart.

“You’re glowing. Your skin is all lit up. More than usual. It’s like you’ve stepped out of some kind of young adult fantasy novel.” Louis’ words are rough and his brows are drawn together and Harry can’t tell if he thinks this is a good or a bad thing.

“I’m more dangerous than your usual teenage fantasy,” Harry counters. He can feel Louis’ erection press against his own. What happens next is all but fated, yet he’s still not sure this is a good idea.

“The kids are reading some crazy shit these days,” Louis says, rolling their hips together. “As crazy as this, certainly. But I’m the one who gets to live it.” He’s begun rocking them together, his motions slow and rhythmic.

Harry whines; he wants to touch Louis, to tear off his clothing, to pull him closer, but he’s afraid of burning him.

“What if I hurt you?” Harry asks.

Louis leans back and grapples for something behind him, exposing a sliver of belly so fascinating that Harry startles when Louis disappears it again, returning to a sitting position. In his hands, he’s holding a brand new bottle of aloe vera.

“This helps, right?” Louis asks.

Harry nods, arching up against him.

Louis tugs his shirt over his head and slathers his chest in the stuff. Harry watches the way the turquoise goo slips and slides between his fingers, leaving little rivers over his nipples and ribs and stomach.

“Now you,” Louis says, hold out a fresh palmful of the stuff to Harry.

Harry closes his eyes. “You do me, too.”

Louis’ touch is electric; Harry’s hot and cold at the same time, shivering. “Louis, can you-?”

Louis removes his hand and, _no_ , that’s not what Harry wanted at all.

Without much thought he brings their chests together and their mouths together and their groins _hard_ together all in the same moment. Louis gasps and then he begins to move, the same steady rhythm as before.

They remain pressed together, save for the tight, twitching movements of Louis’ hips, for a few long minutes, cold and hot, sharing biting kisses and shuddering breaths panted into one another’s mouths.

Louis’ mouth is sweet against Harry’s tongue and Harry wonders if all of him tastes the same, caramel with just a hint of bitter. He imagines moving down Louis’ chest, peeling back his shorts, opening his mouth, licking at Louis’ most intimate parts.

Against Louis’ cheek Harry says, “I want to taste you.”

Louis scoots back and turns, pulling down his shorts and underwear, giving Harry a glimpse of his bare ass before he wiggles around again and rearranges himself against the cave wall beside Harry. His cock stands out from his body, proud.

“I might burn you. Tell me if I burn you.” Louis rubs aloe vera over himself like it’s lube, fingers firm around his hard length. It’s been so long since Harry’s seen a cock aside from his own. Louis’ is beautiful, smooth and red and wet at the tip.

Harry runs a hand over it, tracing his fingers around its head, but he doesn’t play long before leaning in to catch the pearl of white on his tongue.

Louis hisses, “Fuck.”

Harry sits straight up. “I burned you,” he says, but even before the words are fully out of his mouth, Louis’ hands are in his hair tugging him back down.

“No, fuck no.” He’s so loud, voice echoing in the cave. “Felt _good._ ”

That’s all the encouragement Harry needs. Louis tastes richer down here, better than Harry imagined he would. Even covered in aloe vera, musk and precome dance on Harry’s tongue. He wants more, finds himself taking Louis deeper and deeper and deeper.

Suddenly, a memory flashes before him, something Harry hasn’t thought of in years: popsicles, sweet and wet and cool against his tongue. Lapping up Louis isn’t the same; it’s better, cool and delicious, yes, but there’s the desperate noises he’s making, too, and his fingers, tangled in Harry’s hair, the pulse of his veins against Harry’s lips and the tightening of his balls at Harry’s chin.

Louis shouts when he comes- it’s all the warning Harry receives- but Harry doesn’t mind. He swallows down the bitterness easily, relishing the last twitches of Louis’ cock against his tongue. He pulls off and scoots back, watching Louis. He takes in the pink of his cheeks, the red of his well-bitten lips, and, then, the blue of his eyes as they open to watch Harry in return.

“Come here.” Louis’ lost most of his voice and what’s left of it scrapes along Harry’s skin. He’s pooling aloe vera into his palm again and Harry’s breath catches at the thought of what he might do with it.

“Come _here_ ,” Louis repeats and this time Harry obeys, resettling against the hard wall of the cave so that they’re shoulder to shoulder again.

Louis twists his body to capture Harry’s lips in a kiss.

Harry’s whole body clenches tight like a spring when Louis’ slick, cool palm wraps around his his cock.

Against Harry’s cheek, Louis murmurs, voice still so rough, “Is this okay?”

Harry nods, throat too thick to speak and mind too full to find the words.

Louis’ hand is strong and steady, his pulls slow and even. Harry falls into the pattern of it, little shivers of pleasure wracking his body with each tug.

Harry’s orgasm comes creeping up behind him like a fire in the forest- sudden and crackling and hot- and he runs from it; he’s not ready for this moment to come to an end, for Louis’ hand to leave his cock, for Louis to pick up his pack and walk back out of Harry’s life forever.

But Louis’ hand does not slow and the fire keeps chase, hot at his heels, and then it’s roaring up his body and overtaking him, stealing the breath from his lungs and tension from his limbs. He slumps against Louis, nose in Louis’ neck as he spills into Louis’ fist.

He shudders and Louis coos brokenly into his cheek. His lips feel cool and Harry smiles. “I didn’t burn you.”

Louis clears his throat and forces out a shaky, “No.” He’s smiling, too.

Something glistens between them. Not fire, nor fear. Whatever it is, it’s not familiar to Harry. Happiness, maybe. _Real connection_.

Harry sits up and fingers the sticky remains of come and aloe vera covering his chest. “Race you to the river?” It’s not safe- not really- but with Louis beside him, he feels invincible. All of it, being hunted, the long days of loneliness, the hunger, it’s all worth it for this new thing bubbling in and around him.

Louis’ already on his feet, reaching down to pull Harry up. Fingers linked and naked, they run through the forest toward the rush of water ahead.

 

 

 _“I get the shivers just thinking about him. I'll never forget the way he lit up the night._ ”-Shirley Lyons, outdoorsy grandma, age 75, 2012

They’re laying shoulder to shoulder, looking up at the stars. Harry squeezes Louis’ fingers in his own, relishing their weight in his hand.

“So,” Louis’ voice is rough from not speaking. “Are you, like, evil?”

“What?” Harry asks, stiffening. “Why would you ask that?”

“I mean because you’re the devil. Do you really steal babies and make bargains with people in exchange for their soul?” Louis doesn’t sound put off by this possibility. In fact, he’s twisting his body toward Harry, trying to meet his eye, and Harry thinks he might be _intrigued_ by it.

“No,” Harry hisses. “Hell, no. I’m not _the_ devil. I’m _a_ devil. And it’s not even... I’m not like… I don’t live in the fiery pits of hell, obviously. I don’t even have horns or a tail.”

Louis reaches around to pinch Harry’s ass. “I thought you might be keeping it hidden from me somehow.”

“Nope. I’m not magical,” Harry replies wistfully. If only he’d been _gifted_ instead of turned. Mages have a much cooler and more useful secret to keep.

“Spitting fire and glowing and super speed all seem pretty magical to me,” Louis replies. “I’d love to be able to incinerate my enemies.”

Harry considers this. “It’s very lonely, though.”

Louis’ expression crumbles and Harry has to close his eyes against the pity he sees writ across his face. Then he feels a cool breath on his nose and cool lips on his eyelids, cheeks, forehead and mouth.

The kiss they share is soft and entirely without heat. When Louis breaks it, he says, “Sometimes I get lonely, too.”

Harry presses their lips together in another gentle kiss. Against Louis’ mouth he says, “You make me feel less alone.”

Louis deepens the kiss, his tongue finding Harry’s tongue, his hand slipping into Harry’s curls. Softly, he says, “Me too.”

Louis tucks himself up against Harry’s chest, face pressed to Harry’s neck. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“You have a family, friends, a life,” Harry murmurs into his hair. Every word pains him, but he can’t keep Louis here in the woods. That would be cruel of him. He’s selfish, but he’s not _that_ selfish.

Louis’ fingers press tight into Harry’s ribs. “I’ll come back. I’ll bring you a phone. We can stay in touch.”

Harry’s heart beats hard in his chest and he feels something warm and bright bubble up inside him, an echo of that earlier feeling that’d surrounded them after they’d made love.

Despite the danger of staying in one place for too long, especially with Hunters hot on his trail, despite the fact that the collective of devils would likely castrate him for breaking their edict against maintaining relations with a human, despite the fact that his heat still might pose a danger to Louis, he says, “I’ll be right here, waiting for you.”

The stars glitter in the sky above them. Harry doesn’t want the night to end, doesn’t want to return to the quiet, boring life he’d lived before Louis washed over it.

“I don’t think you should be called a ‘devil.’ You’re nothing like the Devil I learned about in Sunday School.” Louis sounds a bit offended on Harry’s behalf.

Harry grins. “I _do_ spit fire.”

“And glow,” Louis adds. “But not like Satan.” He rolls away from Harry, onto his back. Linking their fingers, he finishes his thought, “You glow like the stars.”

Harry exhales and a little flame dances above his lips, it's bright and so hot that, in the moonlight, it shines blue.

**Author's Note:**

> Much love to my beta, especially for deleting a phrase with the note 'you are better than cliches.' If I am, it's only with your help.<3
> 
> This was written for the prompt: "Camping AU where one (or all) of them gets lost in the woods and the other may or may not be a hermit/cryptid."
> 
> The title is from "Sympathy for the Devil" by the Rolling Stones.
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr post](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com/post/166072810450/hope-you-guessed-my-name-by-juliusschmidt-hl-e)


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